


Fuck the Universe

by Ealasaid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who thought Snowman could have gotten sick?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck the Universe

Being sick usually wasn’t that big of a deal. Normal people get a cold, fine. They can sniffle their way through life for a few days until they get better. It was just a thing that affected them and maybe a few of their friends or family if they caught the bug from close proximity.

Things were much different, you reflect, when you get sick, because you’re not just you—not just a dethroned queen or Sn0wman—since English recruited you to the Felt; you’re also the entire universe. Where some people would mutter about colds and spend a few days snufflingly unhappy, you can deliciously anticipate fucking up the cosmos.

However, you’re utterly miserable. So while you can take great delight in snuffing some stars when you sneeze violently—the novas are lovely in the night sky—the headache—making the haze hang unpleasantly in the atmosphere and asteroid belts come crashing down on the surface of other planets—that also leaves you feeling like your head is stuffed with cotton is less welcome. The feverish heat you feel isn’t just an inflammation of your body, but some actual global warming on at least the local scale—it’s a hundred and four degrees outside and disgustingly humid. (There might also be some solar flares erupting from the sun.)

You’ve sulkily confined yourself to your room up in the upper levels of the mansion, unable to take quite as much enjoyment from your contribution to the end of the universe as you’d like. With the temperature outside as hot as your skin, you’ve stripped only to the essentials and you are plastered against the relatively cool glass of your window, moodily contemplating the smoggy outlines of the city. Crowbar brought you a fan earlier, and it sits in the corner quietly whirring the dead air around your room.

You really hope most insincerely that the inhabitants enjoy their horrible day, courtesy of your current case of the common cold.


End file.
